


Cop Karaoke

by persnickett



Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 19:25:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persnickett/pseuds/persnickett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it says on the tin. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cop Karaoke

Matt should have refused to come outright, from the moment he'd heard John use the words ‘karaoke’ and ‘guys from my unit’ in the same sentence.

 

Karaoke had always been one of the few things to come out of Japanese culture that Matt considered to be a bad idea in general. It caused people to make noises that made a pinecone-up-the-ass sound like a holiday by comparison, and it had a reputation for getting messy.

 

Add in old people - old people who were some of John’s best friends, who were his co-workers, who were _cops_ \- and sprinkle in a little questionable legality around what Matt did for a living, and the whole evening was bound to be a minefield of pitfalls. Career limiting, relationship ending pitfalls.

 

 

 

**

  
**_At first I was afraid, I was petrified…_ **

 

John put his name in the roster to sing CCR, of course. Which, for Matt, would have been torture enough _without_ being surrounded by cops.

 

It was no secret that with one notable exception, Matt didn’t really _like_ cops. And he wasn’t dense enough not to get that they probably didn’t think much of him either. It was generally accepted as common wisdom that the Boys in Blue weren’t the most progressive crowd on the block. John had never said out loud that they didn’t approve, but he was usually pretty careful never talk too much about them and Matt had definitely never been invited out before tonight. And frankly he had liked it that way.

 

Come to think of it, Matt couldn’t even be sure that any of them knew that he and John were _together_ -together, and this wasn’t just some kind of weird post-traumatic bonding Fire Sale thing.

 

Joe didn’t seem to have much to say to him — but then Joe didn’t seem to have much to say to anyone. Captain “Call me Connie” Kowalski came back from the bar with the first round, including a Shirley Temple for Matt that he couldn’t be entirely sure was a joke.

 

The young one — the one John called “Rookie” — asked him what grade he was in. Seriously. They were probably about the same damn age.

 

Matt sipped his Shirley Temple and tried not to say anything that would immediately end John’s career.

 

 

**_P-p-p-p-poker face…_ **

 

It was true, the conversation did get a lot easier a couple more rounds in. In fact, Matt was a little stunned by how fast it seemed to get _too_ easy.

 

“Y’know, man,” John was slurring loudly over the sound of six wobbly-legged girls belting Lady GaGa into one microphone. “You're a handsome lookin' dude, Joe. I always though-so, even before I was gay, I sssswear.”

 

“No homo,” Matt muttered, trusting the under-aged caterwauling to camouflage his commentary. He wasn’t sure it worked, though, because next to him the Rookie lost what little was remaining of his composure and burst out into fits of laughter so uncontrollable he started to slide out of his chair and threatened to end up on the floor.

 

Captain Connie seemed to be too busy rebuffing the repeated advances of the weird dude with the pompadour who apparently thought it was important to dress up like young Elvis to go to karaoke night to react.

 

It was just as well she was distracted, because now John seemed to be standing over Joe, flexing a bicep so hard he looked like he might strain something and insisting he grab it. Joe held out impassively until John said “hell, you know what, get a feel of _this_ ,” and turned around to present him his ass.

 

It didn’t seem to surprise anybody except the helplessly gasping Rookie when Joe, joylessly and deadpan, reached up and dutifully copped a full-handed feel.

 

Nobody seemed to be surprised by John’s little admission either. Maybe they thought it was just all a big hilarious joke.

 

Or maybe John had been more open at work than Matt had been giving him credit for.

 

 

**_I see a bad moon rising…_ **

 

The thing about Fogerty’s version of _Heard it Through the Grapevine_ is, it’s eleven minutes and four seconds long. Which gave John approximately nine minutes of extended guitar solo to continue what Matt still couldn’t be sure wasn’t outing himself. On stage.

 

To his abject horror, John started the first few bars with a couple of awkward, unsteady dance moves. When Joe simply stood there waiting for more lyrics to come up on the screen instead of joining in, the dance was modified to include John slapping his own ass a couple of times, and then turning around and slapping Joe's.

 

The mic came back up to John’s mouth in what felt like slow motion. Matt was gripped with what he hoped was a needless fear of what was to come.

 

“HEY EVERYBODY. CHECK OUT THIS ASS ON JOE!” John crowed, as if the entire bar had been privy to their earlier, equally inappropriate but at least private, conversation. “LIKE A ROCK! US OLD GUYS ARE DOIN’ NOT TOO BAD, EH?”

 

Nope, not needless. Matt buried his face in his hands and prayed for a giant hook to appear from off stage, and yank John out of the spotlight.

 

He didn’t even see his prayer being answered in the form of the manager escorting them off the stage, but he heard the music stop, and John’s voice say “That’s my boyfriend, right there. The young, hot one, am I right, folks? _Hey_!” …Apparently it had taken some time to wrestle the mic out of his hand.

 

When Matt finally found the stones to look up again, it was to the image of the police captain looking just about ready to pee her pants laughing. And Weird Elvis Dude right there, cracking up in the seat next to her.

 

But still, nobody seemed to be _surprised_.

 

 

**_Can’t walk out…_ **

 

Matt thought maybe some quiet time in the men’s room was in order.

 

When they got there, John grinned at him, sloppy and lop-sided, and leaned heavily into him like an oversized, over-zealous drunken prom date until his back came up against the metal wall of the cubicles.

 

He turned and looked at Matt sidelong in a way that was probably meant to me more sultry or seductive than it was, but just came off sort of sideways and unfocused. Then the next thing he knew, John was sliding to his knees on the tiles and Matt could have sworn he spent a good ten to fifteen seconds struggling to hold John up before there were clumsy hands running over his thighs and fumbling at his fly, and he realized John was doing it on purpose.

 

"Are you KIDDING me?? I brought you in here to puke, not to blow me!"

 

There was no way this was happening. Outside the door he could hear what sounded distressingly like Connie and Weird Elvis performing a rendition of _Suspicious Minds_ that seemed to be more of a duel than a duet.

 

Matt threw a panicked look around them. He probably shouldn’t have shouted like that - who knew if the cubicles were even empty?

 

He made one final attempt to grab at John’s elbow and try to urge him back to his feet. The only response he got was John’s snore, far too loud to be muffled by the crotch of his jeans.

 

Well. The general difficulties associated with managing to get 210 pounds of dead McClane-weight into a cab somehow aside, at least the night's ordeal was over.

 

 

**_Just another tequila sunrise…_ **

 

“Coffee,” John croaked, when he finally dragged himself into the kitchen the next morning.

 

Matt stayed where he was at the table, and watched him reaching for the coffee pot like it was a dangling life line and he was drowning.

 

He didn’t even feel bad for laughing at just how rough John looked. Although he did think it was a little unfair that he got to look all surly and manly and somehow still _sexy_ , dammit, when he was hung over. Matt had seen himself hung over, and it made him look like something you might find clogging up your drain.

 

“Thanks for making this,” John said into his cup gratefully, once he’d poured himself one. It took him a couple sips before he seemed to be able to speak again. “And for finally coming out with the Unit. I hope I didn’t embarrass you or anything last night.”

 

“Embarrass me?” Matt asked, putting down his iPad and raising an eyebrow. “When? With the part where you got banned from the stage for turning the dance break into a live sex show featuring Joe’s rock hard glutes? Or the part where we got kicked out of the bar when the owner walked into the men’s room and found you passed out against my crotch?”

 

“Jesus,” John said, but he put his coffee cup back up to his mouth too late to hide the amused little smirk there.

 

“Yeah. Well then you’ll also be pleased to know your shenanigans have succeeded in making David question his sexuality.”

 

“Who?” John’s squinty, befuddled look got even more clouded for a second. “You mean Peters? The Rookie?”

 

“His name is David, and he pulled me aside and asked me, over a pint glass I’m pretty sure was full of Jack Daniels, how a guy knows if he might be gay.”

 

“He’s not gay, he’s an idiot,” John snorted, turning to the fridge. He took out the milk, sniffed it, then made a face like he better not risk keeping breakfast down, and put it back. “He’s got two girlfriends, and a kid tucked away somewhere outside the City. What the hell does that mean, _how do you know you’re gay_? When I get in today I’m gonna Krazy Glue that hung over fuck-head’s coffee cup to his desk.”

 

“Aw. You’re cute when you’re jealous,” Matt said. But he got up from the table and started to make his way to the drawer where they kept the glue just in case. “Anyway, he’s probably a lot less traumatized than Joe.”

 

“ _Joe_? Traumatized by a little guy-on-guy?” John laughed, and then lifted a hand to his forehead like he regretted it. “Give the old Geritol crowd a little credit, kid. Joe’s the reason we got together.”

 

Matt was glad he was busy surreptitiously retrieving the Krazy Glue and slipping it safely into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie, because when he turned back around he couldn’t seem to formulate a better response than “I…huh?”

 

“Yeah,” John said, nodding soberly. “He saw you when you came down to the precinct to give me my lunch that day I left it on the counter. Said we kept looking at each other when the other looked away. Convinced me it was worth taking a shot.”

 

“I… _huh_ ,” Matt said again. Maybe a little more credit was due to John’s whole unit than Matt had thought.

 

John drained the rest of his coffee and stepped forward for a quick good-bye kiss. “And I’m sorry I passed out on you in the bathroom, kid,” he said.

 

“Not at all,” Matt answered, waving him off and heading back to his spot at the table where his own cup was waiting. “I’m just glad the whole ordeal is over.”

 

“Don’t be so sure,” John said, suspiciously opening the same drawer Matt had just shut and rummaging through it. “It’s Kowalski’s birthday next week. She specifically asked me where you might like to go. I told her you’re not really the type to get out much, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer…”

 

“I don’t like where this is headed,” Matt said, slowly.

 

“You might want to dig out your wrist guard, kid,” John replied, giving up on the drawer and grabbing his keys off the counter. “Next week you’re going bowling.”

 

 

 

**

  
**_Lean on me, when you’re not strong…_ **

 

John was so focused on fitting his key into the lock and getting the door open, he didn’t realize Matt was leaning on it.

 

The second the bolt turned, the knob whipped out of his hand and the door swung wide into the apartment to slam loudly into the wall. John cursed and reached out to catch it before it could bounce back and smack into Matt - who was now sprawled across the threshold like a confused, and very inebriated, ragdoll.

 

“That’ll wake up the neighbours,” John said drily, bending down to offer him a hand up. “Sorry kid, I shoulda warned you about doing shots with Joe.”

 

“He gets more sober the more he has!” Matt marveled, cocking his head and examining John’s hand like he’d never seen it before. John grabbed him by the upper arms and hauled him to his feet instead. “He was like Drunken Zen Master of… zen-like… drunken…” Matt trailed off, stumbling over to the boot mat. He attempted to toe off his shoes, but only accomplished some slightly fancier stumbling. “Heeeeey. Hey, hey, John. _Does Joe know Kung Fu _?”__

__

John took Matt’s elbow and guided him to the hall bench.

 

“He gets more _serious_ , not more sober,” he said, ignoring the Kung-Fu question and re-focusing on the shoes issue. He took a knee and unlaced one of Matt’s sneakers, let it drop to the floor. “Don’t let the coping mechanism fool you. But I should have toldja, the only person alive who can hold more liquor than Lambert is Kowalski.”

 

“I believe it,” Matt agreed, nodding sloppily so he swayed forward into John’s shoulder. “Connie’s _kickass_.” John ducked out of the way as he swayed back again to chop both his hands through the air a couple of times, and then perform something with his single sock-foot that was probably supposed to be a Kung-Fu Master Joe kick.

 

“Jesus,” John said, making sure it was safe to go back in, before he tackled the other shoe. “If she’s so kickass, then did you really have to hack into her date’s cell phone while he was in the can and set it to Russian?”

 

“Yes.” Matt nodded emphatically again, and then tried to stand up before John had managed to get the shoe off. “Principle,” he added, bouncing agreeably back down onto the bench as John put a hand to his chest and gave a gentle shove. “He’s skeevy. Connie’s a catch, she can soooo do better. Also? Polish.”

 

“He’s Polish?”

 

“No fuggin’ idea. But now his phone sure’s shit is.” Matt giggled amusedly to himself, before his eyes narrowed into a scowl. “Skeevy D-Bag,” he muttered, clearly remembering some mysterious infraction against Connie’s honour.

 

“Alright, up you get,” John grunted. He took one arm to pull Matt to his feet and then draped it over his shoulders to start moving them down the hall toward the bedroom. “So Kowalski’s a kickass catch huh? Think you still hate cops?”

 

Matt’s face screwed up in distaste. He shook his head in shaggy, intoxicated indignation. John caught him when the motion made him trip.

 

“You’re not cops,” Matt argued as they passed through the bedroom doorway. John left him clinging to the frame for support and kept his back to Matt to hide the smile, as he went to turn down the bed. “Did you know — whoa — did you know COP originally stood for Constable On Patrol?” Matt let go of the wall and took the initiative to lurch the few steps forward to the edge of the bed.

 

“I did know that,” John confirmed, as he shucked his clothes and tossed them in the hamper.

 

“You. Are technically agents.” Matt pronounced, sounding like hadn’t even heard him. He was busy fumbling at the button on his jeans, and getting nowhere with it. John went over to lend a hand. “The Joint Terrorism Task Force operates under a Memorandum of Understanding that clearly states—”

 

“You can put that sentence together but you can’t take off your own pants?” John pointed out, tugging them down around Matt’s ankles. Matt waited until John straightened up again to stick out his tongue.

 

“The FBI provides funds to _participating law enforcement agencies_ ,” he continued officiously, only to have the second half of his careful speech get muffled by the sweater John was pulling over his head. “…To cuffer ’spenses iccluding vehicles, office costs, ceff-phone charges aaaaand…” Matt concluded triumphantly when his head popped free, jabbing a finger at him, " _personnel_."

 

“Well the Rookie’s still a cop then,” John responded, urging Matt to climb in under the covers.

 

“Yahbut. Dave’s funny,” Matt replied, as John slid in next to him. “’N he has good hair.”

 

Matt must not have been far gone enough he couldn’t translate the little growling noise that slipped out before John could get a rein on it, because next he said “ _No glue_.”

 

It was quiet long enough John started to think Matt might have passed right out, and John was just starting to wonder whether Matt would remember everything in the morning. He sure as hell hoped so. Tonight had felt like some sort of…progress somehow, and they were going run out of excuses to force him to come out and get to know the unit soon.

 

Then Matt gave a boozy yawn and turned into his chest. “I guess some cops aren’t so bad,” he admitted, burrowing into him blearily. “But you’re still my favourite.”

 

Definitely progress.

 

“You’re my favourite too, kid,” John replied, wrapping an arm around him.

 

“No glue John,” Matt reiterated, poking him sharply in the chest, and then snuggled back down. “I’m-munna get up and hide it from you before you leave in the morning,” he slurred sleepily. “And don’t check in my shoes because it won’t be in there.”

 

John smiled. He tucked his chin into Matthew’s smoky, bowling-alley scented hair and shut his eyes.

 

“Okay,” he agreed.

 

He wouldn’t need to, anyway. Little did the kid know John kept his own tube of the stuff in the top drawer of his desk for just such an occasion.

 

 

 

 

 

THE END


End file.
